Raven Mask

by Winter Pennington

  Something stirred at the center of my being, rushing past the wolf’s alarmed rage. It spilled from that center in a breeze of heat, trying to push away the coldness that threatened to eat me alive. The raven swooped from its perch somewhere inside me. It opened its large black wings and pushed against the weight of Zaphara’s magic, fought against the unforgiving cold.

  The frost melted. There was only water, and with nothing to hold on to, I was suddenly drowning. I tried to breathe but the air was too heavy.

  How do you fight against a magic you do not understand?

  A voice flowed through my mind. “You explore that magic, find its weakness.”

  Weakness? Zaphara’s power was overwhelming. I did the only thing I could think of. I willed myself to be still, as I often did in meditation. This was a place inside myself not even the beast within could touch. It was not her room to retreat to. It was mine. All the emptiness and heartbreak I’d ever experienced was in that one place of my psyche. All the pain and loss and resentment came tumbling like a ball of yarn into my hand.

  I cast my will into Zaphara’s magic like a spear.

  Her spell wavered, and I was suddenly able to feel her rough grip on my arm. I let my anger call me back to my body and tried to keep my focus on my shields. I swallowed, stifling the wolf’s rage. I didn’t need her anger. I had my own, thanks.

  “The problem with your magic, Zaphara,” I said harshly, “is that it’s not real.”

  She let me go, climbing off me. At some point, we’d both fallen back on the bed.

  Lenorre and Rosalin stood close by. Lenorre’s face was as blank as it usually was. Rosalin seemed ready for a fight, her shoulders tense. It looked like they had been ready to interfere if Zaphara had decided to take things too far. I would’ve appreciated them interfering before she kissed me.

  Zaphara stopped and looked at Lenorre. I heard her say, “She is more than she seems.”

  Lenorre gave her a disapproving look. “You need to leave now.”

  Zaphara laughed and directed a sweeping bow at me. “It’s been a pleasure, Kassandra.” She made my name sound disturbingly intimate.

  “You keep pushing me,” I growled, “and you’ll make it on to my shit list.”

  She raised her brows. “Oh?”

  Zaphara made it to the door before she stopped. “One day we will see who is the more fey of us. You and your Goddess, or me and my blood.” With that, she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Fey? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Rosalin let out a breath she’d been holding. “You know,” she said, “I can usually tolerate Zaphara, but sometimes she’s so arrogant.”

  “Zaphara is not a modest creature,” Lenorre said.

  “Creature,” I mumbled. “I could think of other words to call her right now.”

  “Now that I think of it,” Rosalin said, “so could I.”

  Rosalin and I both turned to look at Lenorre, who spared a glance at Rosalin and then steadily met my gaze. If I had thought she would share her thoughts with me, I was wrong. Lenorre kept whatever opinions she had to herself, which only made me more curious to know what was going on inside her head.

  Chapter Seven

  Rosalin offered to go make coffee. I knew there was a kitchen somewhere in the basement level, but I didn’t know where. I’d only seen the one in the main part of the house.

  Lenorre paced in the middle of the room like some dangerous black leopard slinking back and forth in a cage. She stopped, as if feeling my gaze, and turned to look at me. The bell sleeves of her black robe fanned out gracefully about her wrists. The sash was tied loosely at her cinched waist, showing off her hourglass figure. Lenorre’s figure wasn’t exactly subtle, but it wasn’t sickly looking either. Was she old enough to have worn corsets most of her life?

  “What are you thinking about, Kassandra?” The curls falling over her shoulders and to her lower back were messy. It was nice to see her hair less than perfect for once.

  “You wore corsets, didn’t you?” I wanted to know and didn’t want to know how old she was. Why? I’d dated women older than me. I never looked at age, but if Lenorre had been alive during the Victorian Era, that would make her over a hundred.

  That’s the thing with vampires. They don’t grow old in appearance. Whatever age a vampire is when they die is the age they appear for the rest of their lives. Had any vampires been turned when they were already old humans? How much would that suck?

  “Are you trying to figure out how old I am?”

  I shrugged guiltily. “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” She gave me a curious look. “Are you fretting over the generation gap?”

  I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Yes, I wore corsets.” She looked amused. “If you must know, I was changed before that era.”

  “So, you’re over two hundred?” Yeah, I was guessing.

  “Yes.” She sat on the bed in front of me, and I reclined against the pillows, keeping the sheet tucked up under my arms so that I was covered. I still needed to take a bath, or a shower. “How old were you when you were turned?”

  “I was in my early thirties when she turned me.” I knew when she said “she,” Lenorre was referring to her old mistress.

  “When I first met you I thought you were younger. Until you smiled, and I saw the tiniest of lines here.” I brushed my fingertip across the corner of her eye.

  Lenorre smiled and showed that faint line where crow’s-feet would’ve set in. How many women chose to become undead just to avoid having Botox injections and face lifts?

  She slipped her arm around my waist, between my naked back and the pillow. “She did not like them young,” Lenorre said, “nor old. She delayed the change until a woman’s body had fully developed, till she was at the height of her womanhood and beauty. When we were truly women she turned us.”

  “Us?” I asked.

  “She was a Countess,” Lenorre explained. “I was not the only one in her care.”

  I put my arms around Lenorre’s back, pulling her into me. The V of the robe pulled away from her body and I followed the line of her neck, and lower. “Tell me more about this…mistress. You said she was still alive?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Lenorre kissed my neck, nibbling a path toward my shoulder. A twinge of heat ran through me.

  “Why are you not with her?”

  She spoke against the sensitive skin behind my ear. “I was strong enough to break away and create my own clan.”

  I gasped when she placed her hand over the sheet, sliding it up the front of my body to cup my breast. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  “Mayhap,” she purred, tucking the tips of her fingers under the sheet and inching it down. She kissed my shoulder, her mouth working its way toward my clavicle.

  “Well, it’s working.” I moaned as her hand stroked my breast, the barest of touches. “But if that’s not something you want to talk about, Lenorre, all you have to do is tell me.”

  Without warning her hands slid under my ass, pulling me lower so I was no longer propped against the pillows. Lenorre grabbed a fistful of sheet, tossing it aside with a whoosh. The cool air caressed my naked skin.

  “It is not something I wish to talk about.”

  Her head bowed and she kissed the pentacle scar on my sternum, just above my breasts. Goose bumps broke out on my arms.

  Lenorre began tracing the circle around the pentacle scar with the tip of her tongue. “You never told me just how this happened.”

  My legs spread wantonly. “I told you it was an accident, didn’t I?” I wrapped my arms around her, hands stroking small circles on the back of her shoulders. The robe was smooth and slippery. I arched, raising myself off the bed as my hands sank lower. She was so tall that from this angle I had to settle for playing my nails along her spine.

  “Nay, you have not told me.” Her tongue licked over the first diagonal line of the star. “Mmm, I know witches are fond of the
ir symbolic jewelry. Silver?” Her breath was cool against the damp lines. The combination of her tongue and words against my skin made my neck prickle.

  “Yes.” I shuddered as her lips found the side of my breast.

  “Yes?”

  The warmth of her breath against my nipple made my body tighten. She traced me with her tongue, as slowly and intricately as she had traced the pentacle scar on my sternum. “Yes.” I moaned, trying to remember the conversation. She cupped my other breast in her hand, thumb circling the sensitive skin, matching the slow luxurious strokes of her velvety tongue. I moaned again as she caught my nipple between her teeth.

  My pulse beat between my legs like a trapped hummingbird.

  Lenorre’s eyes burned brighter with power, and the breath caught in my throat.

  “Lay down.”

  When Lenorre lowered herself on top of me I touched her shoulder with a hand. “No,” I said, “I want you on the other side of me. On your back.”

  The amused expression didn’t leave her face as she gracefully rolled onto her back. “Like so?”

  I held myself above her on hands and knees. “Yes.” I nuzzled my face in the bend of her neck, burying myself in the ebony curls of her hair. She smelled of cool night air, as if I could smell a frosty breeze on a cold winter night, but mingling with that smell was my scent, the scent of wolf, earthy like musk and pine. I drew the skin of her neck lightly between my teeth and she made a small pleased sound.

  I pressed my mouth against the pulse in her neck, feeling it beat like a bird pounding its wings between my jaws. Strangely, at times she had no heartbeat at all, and others, it was there. Did vampires have an on-and-off switch or something? Did it beat when they were well-fed? I traced the vein in her neck with my tongue. I could’ve bitten her, could’ve called some of the wolf to my aid and driven canines into her skin, but though blood was a delicious and sweet candy even to the wolf, it was not substantial food.

  Besides, werewolf saliva isn’t like vampire saliva. Vampire saliva has an anticlotting enzyme in it called Draculin. I shit you not, that’s what it’s called. It’s the same anticoagulant vampire bats inject into their victims. It keeps the blood flowing steadily while the vampire is drinking. Their saliva, much like a vampire bat’s, keeps the red blood cells from sticking together and the veins from constricting. How do I know this? Vampire-bat saliva has been used in genetically engineered drugs to help stroke and heart-attack victims. Werewolf saliva just isn’t that nifty. Scientists might’ve been brave enough to take on a vampire bat, but I didn’t think they would dare follow an actual vampire around with a spit cup just to see if their saliva could work medical wonders.

  “Kassandra.”

  “Hmm?”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I sat back on my heels and started untying the sash of her robe.

  “Vampire saliva,” I said, watching her lips part seductively.

  Her eyes sparkled. “You’re thinking about my saliva?”

  “Well, yes and no. The anticoagulant in your saliva, to be precise.” Yeah, like that made it sound any better. Romantic, that’s me. “Why did it feel so good when you bit me?”

  Lenorre moved, allowing the robe to fall open. My gaze went from her face to her pale breasts with their soft pink nipples.

  “Skill.”

  “What?” My wits were scrambled by the beauty of her body and the scent of her desire.

  I saw her hand moving out of my peripheral vision and caught it, keeping her from slipping it between my legs. “Would you stop trying to distract me?” I gave her a push on the shoulder. “Lay back down.”

  She did what I asked. “Kassandra, there are few areas in which your mind is easily distracted.”

  “You’re implying the bedroom is one of those?”

  “Yes.”

  My fingers found the sash and I started pulling it free. Lenorre raised her dark brows as I caught her wrists in my hands, pushing them toward the head of the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice lilted with amusement. But I wasn’t going for that.

  “Making sure you can’t distract me.”

  I looped the tie around the black wooden beam. She let me do it, remaining passive while I tied the silken shackles.

  Her passivity broke and before I could move she rose, licking a wet line between my breasts.

  “Even bound,” she murmured against my skin, “I assure you, I can distract you.”

  I lowered myself until our naked bodies touched completely. “I think it’s time I do the distracting, not you.”

  A pleased sound escaped her as my breasts slid over hers. I shuddered, feeling her nipples harden against my skin, and slid low enough to kiss her breasts.

  Lenorre sighed my name and I looked up, rolling her nipple lightly between my teeth. Her head fell back with a soft moan and she tugged gently at her bonds. If she wanted to, she could snap them. Hell, she could snap the bed in half. Being in complete control was solely an illusion.

  I grazed the edge of my teeth across her breast, kissing her, taking her into my mouth and sucking. I licked and nipped my way down her body, settling between her legs.

  Lenorre draped her legs over my shoulders and I wrapped my arms around them, using my grip to pull her closer to my mouth. I placed a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh, leaving kisses until I found the hollow between her thigh and groin. I flicked my tongue against that sensitive area and was rewarded with a longer moan. I brushed my lips across her sex, turning my face to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. This time, it was not a chaste kiss. I drew the skin into my mouth, tucking it between my teeth, careful not to cross the line from pleasure and pain to absolute pain. I ran my left hand over her hip, over the slope of her groin, tracing the hot, wet slit between her legs. Her thighs blossomed like a night-blooming flower opening to the seductive glow of the moon.

  I wrapped my arms around her thighs, using them as an anchor. I could smell her, cool and immaculate, like the first sprinkling of hoarfrost on a cold winter night.

  Gazing up the length of her porcelain body I realized her fingers were working at the knot at her wrists. While I’d been trying to distract her, she’d been busy. She gave me a challenging look as the silken material fell from one wrist.

  Obviously, I hadn’t been distracting her well enough.

  I dug my nails into her thighs and her back arched. “No,” I said.

  Lenorre laughed, her voice shaky with pleasure. “I will get out of them eventu—” I pressed my mouth between her legs.

  “Kassandra.”

  I sealed my lips over her, sucking her clit into my mouth. Her hips rose and my pace quickened. I gave myself to her, losing thought of anything but the way she felt in my mouth and her desire coating my lips. The world narrowed to my tongue dancing over her hot flesh and to her moans filling the room like music.

  Her muscles tensed beneath my hand and I sucked harder.

  “Kassandra.” She moaned my name again.

  The sight of Lenorre throwing her head back in pleasure almost undid me. Passion drove me as I pushed her to the edge. The sound of her pleasure filled my ears, sweet and encouraging. Lenorre moaned, going rigid under my touch.

  Then I moaned, the sound muffled against her. My hands tensed, nails digging into the skin of her thighs. An invisible pleasure built unexpectedly at the base of my spine and spilled through me. I tore my mouth from Lenorre and cried out.

  Chapter Eight

  Everything was hazy as I tried to breathe past the pulse thundering against the side of my neck. Lenorre seemed to be doing the same. I rested against her thigh, and she met my gaze with a light and breathless laugh.

  “What?” I panted.

  “You.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “You look so…spent.”

  I drew a deep breath. “What the hell was that?”

  “Wondrous,” she said, falling back on the pillows. “Exciting. What is the term the
y use nowadays? Mind-blowing?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Your orgasm?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Projection,” she said.

  “You pushed your orgasm onto me?”

  “Yes.” Her expression was damn near mischievous.

  “I’ve heard of people projecting,” I said, “but never of someone projecting an orgasm.”

  “You’ve been amongst the humans too long, Kassandra.”

  To that, I didn’t know what to say, except, “I need a bath.”

  A shower was out of the question. One, I didn’t feel like standing up. Two, I wasn’t sure I could.

  “So do I.” Something about the way she said it sounded suggestive.

  “Oh, no.” I sat up. “No more. After last night, and this afternoon…” Thinking about last night, I looked and, sure enough, I’d torn her mattress all to hell again. The first time I’d torn the mattress apart was when the beast was trying to rip through my skin. It was also the first time I’d shifted into a bird.

  I gave Lenorre an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Did you have to replace the last one?”

  “The last mattress? Yes.”

  “Lenorre, I’m—”

  “Kassandra, do not worry about it.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Besides,” she smiled like a lazy cat, “that is not the only thing you tore.”

  My hands were still on her thighs. Confusion made me furrow my brows. A moment later, something warm trickled over my hands. I flicked my gaze to Lenorre’s thigh. I’d lost myself to a moment of passion, and when the orgasm had shaken my body into pure oblivion I had cut her. The blood was very bright against the stark white of her skin, but the wounds were already beginning to heal. I stared for several moments, wanting to run my tongue across those scratches. It wasn’t entirely the wolf’s desire that motivated me, although the scent of fresh blood was making the wolf pace, disturbed by the fact that it was Lenorre bleeding but wanting a taste nonetheless.